Chapter Text
Many before him have gone through these very doors – which is a paradox, really, as only a select few are able to reach this same level of mastery. It’s taller and so much grander than he imagined: each coppery grain making up the cedar wood striking fear in his very nerves. Tamaki feels his legs tremble under him. He stares at the door’s polished golden handle in his mind’s eye and finds he just can’t quite reach it, one hand after the other trying to grab at it while his goal keeps on slipping further and further away.
The harsh, deafening sound of his own shallow breaths freezes him to the spot. This isn’t right. Even his rapid-fire heartbeat agrees that this must be a mistake, each thump-thump taunting him into defeated submission as he stands there by his lonesome. In front of him is a trolley with four cloches, but he’s already forgotten what’s under them and why he’s even here.
One, two, three. Three, two, one. Remember your breathing exercises.
No, Tamaki isn’t alone. The succulent piece of steak sitting on his shoulder tells him so, his encouraging words reverberating and piercing through each of his traitorous thoughts. And how could Tamaki miss the steaming mug of jasmine tea by the front of the trolley? Her touch is soothing, keeping Tamaki grounded, reminding him wordlessly to keep his eyes on the road ahead.
The last push he needs comes from none other than his two favourite flavours of ice cream. A strawberry scoop guards over the front two cloches; his twin brother, the vanilla scoop, looking after the remaining two. Together, they turn to Tamaki with sheer confidence, identical thumbs held out like a war cry. We believe in you, so don’t you give up now.
Such a simple gesture, but oh-so-powerful. With his resolve restored, the dark-haired teen nods, his grip on the handle solidifying. He twists it open. The sliver of light shining through the gaps momentarily blinds him, but with a newfound attitude, Tamaki pushes on regardless, wheeling his trolley forward…
Until a particularly ear-splitting sound distracts him and he trips, snapping him back to reality. He and his tray of food are sent flying out of the kitchen entrance and pathetically crashing onto the floor.
“Aaaaaah, that really hurt,” Tamaki cries from the tiled surface. There’s hot soup under his hand and it stings, pain blooming on his front legs where he landed. Not too far in front of him is what’s become of his hearty brunch meal. He sulks at the sight of spilled noodles, soggy brioche bread and his ruined dessert — as if it didn’t take him three hours to make them all from scratch.
It happened so fast. Bracing himself would have been ideal, but with the tray he was carrying, he couldn’t have done much to prevent the fall anyway. Tamaki only sits up on his butt after he’s done checking over himself. There’s syrup and mushrooms on his apron, a small cut on his palm and his favourite frilly long sleeve is drenched in grime and sadness. Parsley and bean sprouts swim on the floor among the huge, broken pieces of ceramic.
Then he hangs his head forward in shame, feeling sorry for himself and his lost food. Ugh. Such a failure.
“Tamaki-senpai!”
A small figure yells out from behind him. Tamaki’s heart almost jumps out of his throat from fright. Soon, the young man dutifully arrives by his side, hovering over the mess on the ground. Eijirou. Thank goodness it’s just Eijirou and not one of manor staff.
“I heard a really loud crash!” Eijirou says candidly. “You look awful, are you okay?”
Dropping his braced position, Tamaki shrugs it off. “I’m fine. I tripped and burnt myself with the soup. S-Serves me right for not looking where I’m going.”
Eijirou grimaces. He performs his own check on Tamaki, circling him in midair about three or four times. Tamaki can feel the younger’s apprehension wafting over him with the way he keeps flitting about.
When he hisses under his breath at the burn, Eijirou is quick to comment. “Senpai, you’re not fine at all. What happened?”
The older teen blinks at him. Eijirou’s dressed in a grey, sleeveless top today. A red neckerchief sits on his shoulders, his equally red hair slicked back and adorned by a white bandana. He may be small in stature and incredibly hyperactive, but in all the years he’s known him, Eijirou has grown to be one of Tamaki’s trusted guardians.
“Now that I think about it, there was this loud sound…”
“Tamaki!”
For the second time that afternoon, Tamaki is joined by another one of his dearest friends. The ends of Nejire’s wispy green dress follow suit wherever she moves, tiny hands drawn to her chest with worry. Her face contorts at the sight of him. “I’ve been looking all over the manor for you! You weren’t in your room, so I went over to your study to see if you were in the middle of classes, but you weren’t there either and I got worried something happened to you! Imagine my panic when I heard a heavy thud and plates smashing on the ground! I was right! What happened, who did this to you?”
“I tripped. Tragic, really.”
She wastes no time pulling him up to his feet by a dripping sleeve. When that doesn’t work, she pulls at him from the shoulder, but Tamaki simply watches her and shows no signs of moving.
“A little help here, maybe?” Nejire chastises. The red-haired guardian is quick to act, backing her up by pulling at Tamaki’s other side.
“Senpai, could you stand up for a bit?” he says. The dark-haired teen nods, indulging them both.
With Tamaki up and slouching under her scrutiny, Nejire is quick to pinpoint the areas he’s hurting at with a single glance. “Okay, what do we have here… Knees, hands… a bit of soreness in the arms… You’re going to have to promise me to rest after this, alright?”
“Thanks Nejire.” Amused by the spectacle, Eijirou lets out a faint chuckle. As Tamaki’s first and closest guardian, it’s natural for her to act as his second mother. He’s been witness to many of her healing acts, after all.
Her treatment starts with a faint blue glow. Nejire conjures a round blob of hot, green liquid between her hands, said blob growing in size the more she focuses her power on it. When she’s happy with the amount, she swirls it back and forth in elongated curves to cool it down for Tamaki.
Then she guides the liquid trail over Tamaki’s wounds and minor burns. It takes a second or two to get it working, green healing magia tackling the blotches of red skin.
“I’m so useless,’’ Tamaki turns his attention to the floor, raising his arms when the girl tells him to, “I spend three hours making myself some decent food and now it’s ruined. I’m already a disgrace to the world, yet I disgrace it further by wasting perfectly good food. I’m a horrible human being.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Tamaki-senpai!” says Eijirou reassuringly. “You’re plenty awesome! Come on, let me help you out. Call on me, do the spell book thingy!”
With one of his hands freed, he pats down his pockets, only to come up with… nothing. Tamaki purses his lips tightly. “I… I c-can’t.”
“Sure you can! Hmmm, how about an energy boost spell? I can get this mess cleaned up while Nejire-senpai helps you in no time.”
Tamaki shakes his head. Unfortunately, that still won’t work. “I really can’t. I d-don’t have my grimoire with me right now. I don’t memorize the spell.”
“Help from the maids, then?”
“Absolutely not, I c-can’t inconvenience them like that…” Tamaki points out.
“Then Nejire-senpai and I are your only hope!”
He sighs deeply, stress settling in his nerves like an unwelcomed guest. There’s a throb in his head that wasn’t there moments before, and Tamaki really only has himself to blame for all of this. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
Nejire floats backwards when she’s done with her duty, assessing her handiwork. She can’t do anything about his dishevelled clothes unfortunately. She does, however, hum with delight when Tamaki looks over his hands and arms before shooting her a grateful smile.
“Good as new, right? Now go on, we haven’t got all day,” the girl says. “That includes you too, Eijirou-kun. You boys always get into a heap of trouble without me, I swear to the gods.”
Eijirou straightens up and salutes. “Y-Yes senpai! Ready for clean-up duty, senpai!” He grins overzealously.
“It’s okay, you two. It’s my responsibility; I can do this on my own. Thanks anyway,” Tamaki says, faltering slightly. “Oh, uhm, could s-someone hand me a large container from the kitchen first? I can’t really use the broken bowl.”
“Sure!” says Eijirou. “I’m on it!”
xxx
Soon, Tamaki starts cleaning up the place himself while Nejire and Eijirou spectate. It takes him all of five minutes to pick up the tray and, with the newly acquired container, he uses his innate magia to levitate the soup and the rest of his ruined brunch into it. Whether or not he believed or appreciated it, this is Tamaki’s special—and quite possibly his only— talent. As heir of the Amajiki family, his power allows him to control any and all food types to his very will.
In practice, Tamaki would use his gift to bring himself meals from the main kitchen without having to get up from his room. He likes to make his own food, and even if it would be more convenient to get his meals delivered to his door by the family’s loyal servants, Tamaki would rather do this one thing for himself than risk being subjected to their scrutiny or participating in any sort of conversation. This is especially true when the manor has outside guests he wants to avoid, and he could care less if anyone becomes surprised by the image of floating juice and sandwiches making their way around the manor corridors. Not today, however. Thankfully his parents have set up his very own kitchen near his quarters for whenever he wants to cook away from the prying eyes of the manor staff.
It’s also incredibly useful in the battlefield. Not that Tamaki would dare leave the comforts of home, though. Regardless of his attitude towards the outside world, Taishiro-sensei is tasked to teach him a variety of food spells and combat techniques, passed down by an entire generation of food mages from his hometown, the esteemed port territory of Meringue. He keeps these spells in a grimoire which he carries with him wherever he goes but, much to Tamaki’s chagrin, he finds he has no recollection of where it currently is. He swears he had it when he was cooking earlier on…
Of course, with a powerful gift like his comes its arguable downsides. Tamaki was five when he started hearing the voices of food — their varying traits and personalities dependent on the food’s inner soul. Begrudging calls like, “Please help me. This bag is too narrow,” and, “Oi. Are you going to eat me or not? Put me out of my misery before I sour and blame it on you!” followed him around and sent him to tears. It made him afraid to eat at all — knowing that of all things, his food had their own memories and past lives. Truly, if it wasn’t for his mother’s soothing reassurances that no, only a select few foods; the more powerful ones, at that — were blessed with their own souls and no, his dinner was not out to get him and it wasn’t cruel to eat them, Tamaki would have spent his entire life being wary.
With a wave of his hand, Tamaki’s sweet dessert follows the noodles into the container. He still has a bit of trouble with drawing out smaller pieces of food using his magia, but he manages to wring out his clothes free of soup and toppings. Once finished with the task, his ears pick up the sound of cheeky snickers, their owners hiding behind the corner at the end of the corridor.
“Hey senpai? You know that sound you said you heard before you fell over?” Eijirou wonders not long after. “I think I know who the culprits are. They’ve been watching us this whole time.”
“I figured as much.” Tamaki replies.
All three of them turn towards the snickering. Two young boys—one red-haired, the other white-haired—can be seen peeking at them from behind a wall. They immediately attempt to flee once they notice they’ve been caught in their mischief. To make matters worse, Tamaki even spots the purple cover of the trusted grimoire he's missing, curiously and suspiciously in their possession. Unbelievable.
Eijirou is undeterred by their disappearing act, chasing after the prankster twins with a rant on his lips.
“Oi, Shouto-kun! Todoroki-kun! Don’t you think you’ve had enough with messing with Tamaki-senpai?” His voice is neutral, but the reprimanding tone slips out, spooking the two away.
At that, Shouto and Todoroki attempt make a run for it, but Eijirou is faster and physically stronger. He catches them by the collar and lifts them both back to apologize for their behaviour. They’ve no chance trying to pull away from him now.
“Ow! Don’t drag us! We’ll be good!” cries Shouto, dropping his grip on the spellbook to shoo Eijirou away.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Todoroki, the older brother, protests. They only stop their shenanigans once Tamaki stands before them, their senpai’s disapproving gaze rendering all their excuses useless.
“Sorry for stealing your grimoire, Tamaki-senpai,” mumbles Todoroki, making himself as small as possible.
“We didn’t mean to make you fall over, we just wanted to practice some magic...” Shouto adds. Tamaki’s newest guardians are younger than Eijirou by a few months, and they haven’t been with him nearly as long. Their potential with food magia has yet to be realized, so Tamaki blames his own lack of authority for their misplaced disloyalty towards him.
A long exhale follows the gradual drop of his shoulders. “It’s not funny to take people’s things, Shouto, Todoroki,” he mutters, picking them both up from the ground. “You can both do as you please and I won’t stop you, but when someone gets hurt, it’s no longer okay to be mischievous. You should also know not to take my grimoire. It’s a special gift and there’s only one of it in the entire world. Without it, I can’t help all of you. Please return it to me and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
Shouto and Todoroki nod apologetically and retrieve Tamaki’s grimoire. There’s no use worrying over what’s already happened, so Tamaki doesn’t have a choice but to return to his kitchen and whip up something far easier to make for lunch. Through sheer habit, he flips the Do Not Disturb sign hanging by the door — a precaution for anyone in the vicinity to stay away when he’s in his zone. “Do you want me to make something for you four as well?” Tamaki asks his friends. With his grimoire doubling as a recipe book, he browses it for notes about his and his food guardians’ favourite recipes.
“Oh! Oh! Could I get bacon? The really crispy type?” says Eijirou.
“Soba please!” the twins answer, both of them crawling upwards to sit on Tamaki’s left shoulder. At least the two aren’t angry with him.
Nejire smiles too. “I’ll be happy with whatever you’re having, Tamaki.”
Later on, when the dark-haired teen is about to put away the dishes after cooking up a simple omelette he happily shares with everyone, Nejire wonders how he’d gotten distracted enough to lose his footing in the first place.
“Oh, that. I was merely thinking of an impossible dream,” he responds curtly, a warm, longing feeling emanating from deep in his chest at the thought of it. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry, but knowing him all these years, whatever theory she comes up with wouldn’t be far from the truth anyway.
To The Wonderful Citizens of Confectia and the Land Beyond,
On this glorious day of the fourth of June, you are hereby verily invited to the capital for the country’s annual Panna Cotta Festival. The festival will span for seven days from the second week of October, and conclude on the twenty-fifth. As with past festivals, many activities shall be held over the week, including the commemorative Royal Campfire Dance. Panna Cotta Territory is most proud to boast our beloved caterers from every corner of the kingdom to serve you only the best cuisines.
For citizens over the age of sixteen and under the age of sixty, the royal family also invites you to apply for the Festival’s Royal Cook-Off. Applications must contain photographic evidence of your latest dishes, your culinary experience and a written letter of interest. They must also be received by mail before the thirty-first of August to be valid. Once sent, each application will be thoroughly reviewed by Panna Cotta’s renowned food critics.
As such, twenty-four lucky participants will be selected for the competition for a chance at the five-hundred pichron cash prize and to have a dish of their own choosing be memorialized in Panna Cotta's Royal Cookbook. We wish you all the best on your future endeavours and look forward to your participation!
Signed by His and Her Majesty,
The King and Queen of Confectia
Do You Have What It Takes To Be The Best? The Annual Cook-Off Is On Again This Year!
Just this morning, the royal invitation to Panna Cotta Territory’s annual festival and cook-off has been published and sent to all of Confectia’s thirteen competing territories. Rumour has it that the prize for this year’s winner will be much grander than the letter discloses, but this has yet to be confirmed by legitimate sources. According to the Royal Head Chef, Chef Hirugo Kensho himself, we’re looking at a sensational surprise for this season! Here’s what you need to know about last year’s standings in preparation for the challenges our competitors may face this coming October!
The Royal Panna Cotta Cook-Off: The Opportunity Of A Lifetime for Every Budding Chef and Food Enthusiast. Applications Are Now Open from the fifth of June to the thirty-first of August. We believe in a united Confectia!
Sign up! Sign up! Sign up!
It’s that time of year again.
Tamaki is beginning to regret ever needing to leave his room today. He has classes he is loathe to avoid, and he can only put off an afternoon without food for so long. The stash of non-perishables for his frequent emergency coop-ups has run out, and while he could quick retrieve some more from the kitchen, it doesn’t change the fact that Tamaki cannot stay locked up. The only thing that could make his already miserable day even worse is a direct summons from his parents.
He peeks through the gap of his double doors with bated breath. Empty. Thank goodness they’re empty. Just in case, he pushes one door forward and surveys his surroundings with a quick reconnaissance spell. Quite possibly the most useful thing Taishiro-sensei has ever taught him: it lets him use any liquid at hand as a lens. With spells like these, missing his magia class today would be most unwanted.
Nejire, Eijirou and the ice cream twins are no where to be found, so Tamaki has to deal with getting to the third floor study on his own.
A few steps out of his room and traipsing the vast corridor leading to the manor’s main area has Tamaki’s feeble heart already sinking down to his gut. How dandy. For every metre he walks, a flyer is plastered on the wall. If he were to face his head forward, he’ll find that there are several more ahead, each repeat advertisement blinding him with saturated colours and obnoxious headlines. It makes him dizzy to think about this aggressive persuasion — perhaps making a run for it and turning left would be the end of the flyer assault?
Unfortunately not. Up ahead, he can hear the chitter-chatter of Amajiki Manor’s loyal servants heading his way, likely under his parents’ order to tidy up his room, or worse, to check up on his wellbeing. He hastily throws his back against the wall and keeps himself from breathing.
Oh god.
“Hey, have you heard?” one of the maids says to her companions. “The Young Princess will be overseeing the Royal Cook-Off this year!”
“Really! Oh wow, that must be so exciting! Is that the big surprise that we’ve been hearing so much about for this year?”
A third voice interjects, “One of them, probably! Normally the King, Queen and Crowned Prince are the only ones from the royal family in the judging panel for the final round, right? I wish we could go to see it.”
“I heard Butler Yawara will be going! Waited an entire year to take a leave and all,” the second maid says. “Though our Lord and Lady are most kind. Some of us are given the week off. Kimiko and I went last year for the Campfire Dance! It’s so much prettier in person!”
Tamaki uses the sound of her soft chuckle to take a deep, harried breath. They’re getting closer. He would hurry back to his room to avoid their presence but Tamaki is physically unable to move in his panic. They’re going to find him. They’re going to find him; oh gosh, what if they say hi? Can he say hi back? What if his voice cracks? What if no sound comes out? Is just a hello okay? They might ask him questions and he won’t know what to say, then they’ll laugh at his posture and report back to Mother and Father about what a pathetic excuse of an heir he is—
Wait, no, they wouldn’t do that. Of course they wouldn’t do that; Nejire has told him many a time that the manor staff are not and will never be out to get him. Aaaah, where are his guardians when he needs them…? A shaky hand slowly inches towards his grimoire so he can cast a camouflage spell, but the overwhelming feeling of dread keeps him from thinking straight.
Too late.
“If you can afford it, you really should go! We can take care of things here with our Lord and La— Oh! Young Master!”
Turning the corner, the maids catch him hunched over the wall and trembling, dark eyes pleading for respite. The eldest one moves to support him, but a sudden memory stops her in her tracks. Distance. They’re smart to keep away. He’ll combust with embarrassment if anyone touches him, but they remain at an arm’s reach to see if there is anything they can do.
They wait, whispers dissipating into the air, sharing furtive glances as Tamaki acknowledges their presence. He nibbles on his lip and fiddles with his hands while he thinks back to the pointers his guardians have drilled in his head. Hello is just a word. Five letters, one greeting. Make sure to smile. Keep your voice at an even level, like the gentle sound of a simmering pot of soup.
“Uhmm… G-G-Good afternoon,” Tamaki stutters.
Two words! That’s even better.
“Young Master, hello.” the maids greet back, bowing politely. It’s always embarrassing to be subjected to such honour.
“Uhm, uhh,” is the next thing that comes out of his mouth, and Tamaki has to think of something fast before he regrets it. Their faces light up. Anyone who works for the Amajiki family would know that Tamaki is never one for small talk. But he’s already gotten this far…
Surprisingly enough, he’s saved by a flyer posted not too far from him. “F-Festival…”
The blonde-haired maid understands his implication immediately. “Oh? The festival! The royal letter’s been sent off today and has arrived here at Meringue, Young Master. Have you read it yet?”
He nods first, but pushes on with his words, “I h-heard you were t-talking about g-going. Do y-you know then, if Mother and Father are going too?”
They ponder over it. “We’re not entirely sure, Highness,” the nice brunette maid says. “Although they might like you to go! If you’re feeling up to it, of course.”
“I see. And w-what of the Royal Princess?” Tamaki asks curiously.
“Oh, yes! She’ll be in the judging table this year, or so the rumour goes!” beams the eldest one. “She’s young, but the King and Queen are confident she knows her flavours. Of course, if she’ll be there, it’s natural to assume that the Prince will be there to look after her.”
The blonde maid adds, “That’ll be a sight indeed! We went to the festival last year and he looked absolutely gorgeous! Hair slicked back, immaculate outfit, and he looks strong and capable! The royal bloodline’s future is in good hands. His coronation is soon, isn’t it?”
“No actual news yet, but he’s only a year older than Young Master! It’s a possibility!”
Tamaki stops listening.
The Royal Prince, huh. What a curious topic.
He can’t control the hot scarlet that fills his face at the thought of him, and the happy thump of his heart doing somersaults in his chest. Goodness. This is embarrassing. He can feel the burning stares, the ridicule threatening to escape, the transparency of his own feelings — why, the maids will really, really look at him and their jeers will be his only enemy—
But they never bring it up. They tell him about the delicious foods that were served last year for the feast and the small snippets of the competition that weren’t broadcasted on television. With the strike of a new hour, they remember why they were there. Tamaki excuses himself.
“Uhm, t-thank you for the information. I must be going to class soon,” he bows then, and they freak out.
“No, no, thank you, Young Master! We’ll get back to our duties!” they say. “W-Would you like a light blue or violet colour for your change of sheets today?”
“I like blue,” he tells them. “Thank you.”
Once free to roam about by himself again, he exhales audibly, the legs holding him up feeling like putty. He talked to the maids. Wow.
The significance of this only just hits him, and it makes Tamaki smile from one ear to the other every time he manages to do it. They seemed pretty pleased to talk to him too. It’s a rarity for Tamaki to initiate conversation, but the sense of accomplishment never fails to brighten up his day.
Maybe he’s not such a misfit after all.
He replays the interaction in his mind until he gets to the third floor, blissfully ignorant of the increased onslaught of posters and notices about the Royal Cook-Off.
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It never ends.
The flyers continue to appear everywhere over the next few days, whether they be outside Tamaki’s wing, or the main hall, or even the door of the first floor bathroom.
He does a good job of ignoring them for a while. By day seven, the twitch in his eye is prominent, and by day nine, he doesn’t hesitate to resort to magic, manifesting an octopus tentacle to grab one of them from the wall and crumpling it into a paper ball.
He’s being hated.
Nejire, Eijirou and the twins are there when he glares at a particular irritating poster on his way to the Grounds for combat training. He doesn’t miss the blue-haired girl’s exclamation, or the way Eijirou turns away and bites on his lip as he disposes of another advertisement.
Earlier on, he asked Butler Yawara to find the source of the flyers, and to put an end to all unsolicited mail. It wasn’t this bad last year. But when the butler regretfully informs him that the Lord and Lady have implemented this rule many months ago, his suspicions are only confirmed.
Taishiro-sensei—head chef of Amajiki Manor and Tamaki’s personalized tutor—comments about it while he practices how to properly utilize Shouto and Todoroki’s powers.
“You’re not going to sign up for the Cook-Off this year, Tamaki?” he asks. He nods in approval at the sight of the hardened ice mass forming in the center of the field, the spectacular result of Shouto and Tamaki’s joint efforts.
“What about you, Taishiro-sensei?” Tamaki throws the question back.
“Me, sign up again?”
“You could win it,” He leaves the this time around unsaid. Tamaki makes eye contact with Todoroki next, and with two phrases from his grimoire, he conjures three fireballs, carefully focusing them at the ice pillar. It misses and dissipates back into nothing after flying a few metres ahead.
Todoroki groans, but he is steadfast and looks up to Tamaki to try again.
“Nah, I’ll let the young ones take part instead.” Taishiro says. “Besides, I have the Manor and Meringue Territory to look after. You’re a talented young man, Tamaki. I know you’ll go far.”
Tamaki recognizes the praise. “You’re only saying that because I’m your student, sensei.”
His teacher laughs. “Yes, you are my student, but I speak the truth! Take it from me, it’ll be good for you to meet other people who have a lot in common with you. You also get to do what you like doing. You’re good at it! What was it called again, uhh, Tamaki’s Savoury Schnitzel Surprise and the Super Duper, Fudgy-Wudgy Chocolate Pudding of Death? You could enter with those.”
A shriek escapes his lips and he flushes violently at the recipe names. Those were private! Private names he told his mother in a rant about losing a bet to Nejire’s silly naming skills! His other three friends giggle at their secret, and he sends them an offending glare.
“In all seriousness,” Taishiro continues while he attempts the fireball spell with Todoroki once more, “I’d be proud to see you step out of your comfort zone for a change. The entire territory of Meringue will be rooting for you, whenever you’re ready.”
Tamaki notices Eijirou and Shouto competing with one another about who could cheer them on the loudest from the sidelines. Honestly. Taishiro-sensei wouldn’t be singing the same tune if he could see how disastrous Tamaki was in the presence of strangers. The way he stumbles over the simplest of topics and how his thoughts refuse to link up under a thousand piercing gazes… it’s pathetic, shameful and uncalled for.
And if Tamaki can’t even manage a short compliment towards their servants on the best of days, how much more with crowds of people he’s never met before?
“I t-think I’ll pass,” he tells Taishiro, his voice betraying the crippling sorrow he feels deep down. If his teacher noticed, he fails to say anything of it. The lesson continues with no arguments, the mighty ice pillar keeping its unblemished form even after Tamaki and Todoroki’s solid attempts to break it down.
Dinner is served with the Earl and Countess later that night. It’s safe to assume that Amajiki Manor boasts an incredibly furnished dining room – their two-decade old mahogany table taking up most of the vast space at the center. Each individual silverware is polished daily by the kitchen staff, and they shine under the golden chandelier proudly hanging from above. The silk tablecloth is pristine. Their chairs are made of the finest black leather; a price truly worthy of their noble blood. Decorating the center of the long table is a beautifully-crafted platinum candelabra, a long-lived family heirloom.
Tamaki sits opposite his mother, and adjacent to his father at the right-most end of the table. Their plates are topped with meaty delicacies and freshly-caught seafood courtesy of their head chef. The Earl is the first to speak—inquiring, but not pushing about what Tamaki’s plans are for the future.
“We’ve heard your lessons with Taishiro are going well, but you need experience, son. You’ll be old enough to take over my place as Earl soon, so now’s the time to take those opportunities and shine, right?” Tamaki’s father is a big man with dark, kind eyes, and he only has a few inches on Tamaki. He has his mother’s hair and magical ability, but his pointed ears and keen sense of hearing are definitely from Tamaki’s paternal side.
“Why not try again this year, dear?” the Countess encourages in the middle of a bite. “You can take Butler Yawara and a few other companions with you. Ryuko’s been to Panna Cotta recently; she can show you around if you’ve forgotten! We’d hate to let you go by yourself.”
Tamaki looks toward his mother. “You’re talking about the cook-off, right?” he confirms with a whisper. It figures that they’ve asked him to dinner to discuss this very topic. Those flyers aren’t exactly easy on the eyes, and how they keep popping out of nowhere is getting on his last nerve.
“There’s a lot more to it now compared to the last time we went together,” says Tamaki’s father matter-of-factly. Yeah. He can imagine. With the live broadcast of the competition, the many chefs attending kingdomwide, the various stalls set up side by side all over town and the Campfire Dance he’s been hearing so much about, the Panna Cotta Festival is much more grandiose now than it was when Tamaki was eight or thirteen. It’s the biggest, most anticipated deal in all of Confectia, the proud country of food and home of culinary genius.
The dark-haired teen sighs begrudgingly. The lack of motivation he feels clings to his body like a shadow. He’s slumped over the chair when he forks a juicy prawn into his mouth, chewing once, twice.
Their discussion halts until dessert comes. The waitresses set down a cloche in front of him before lifting the lid off and taking their leave. It’s his favourite simple treat: a banana fritter topped in strawberry and vanilla ice cream.
Suspicious. Tamaki’s father chuckles when he catches him hiss at the dessert. “Shouto and Todoroki giving you trouble again?” He doesn’t have Amajiki blood running through his veins, so it’s always entertaining to see Tamaki look at food like it’s going to eat him alive.
“Not recently. We worked well today. Todoroki’s as strong as ever, so it’s my fault we’re syncing up all wrong.” The twins aren’t physically present in the dining room, but Tamaki feels them loitering nearby.
“How about your cooking lessons? I’m sure it’s a lot more accommodating than combat practice. Did you attempt a new dish the other day?” Mother says. There’s no hiding anything from her as Nejire, the traitor she is, likes to talk to her sometimes.
Back to the royal cook-off, then.
“Do I have a choice in this?” he asks quietly. “Y-You know I-I’m not good in crowds, Mom. I already feel spoiled to have my own wing and allocated space in the M-Manor and I can’t really h-have the same luxuries in public.” The live broadcast is Tamaki’s biggest dilemma. If, hypothetically, he does apply and gets accepted into the competition, he’s clever enough to wield all his evasive spells to get through seven days of hellish scrutiny. But under the watchful eyes of everyone else in the entire kingdom? He’ll perish before the first day even begins.
Tamaki’s mother responds eagerly. “Sure! You know you’ll always have a choice, dear. And do you think I missed the way you’ve been looking at Prince Mirio all these years? You two always seemed to get along as children… Why, you can reconnect with him again at the competition!”
A piece of sweet banana lodges itself in Tamaki’s throat and sends him into an induced coughing fit.
Pathetic.
Unbelievable.
Humiliating.
He reaches for a tall glass of water and downs it in record time, mind still reeling at his mother’s declaration.
She even knows this much? Tamaki hears the nervous shuffling from the door – true to his senses, his food guardians are eavesdropping on them, and the door slams when Tamaki turns his attention to the source of the noise.
Then he whispers something to himself, and his mother kindly reaches for his hand across the table. “Don’t worry, honey. Nejire-chan hasn’t told me the nitty gritty just yet. She did bring up the idea of posting flyers all over the Manor though. Your guardians just want you to become the best you can be. Your father and I, too. We know you’ve been training for the competition, even if you don’t think you’re ready…”
There’s a few more minutes of dull silence that stretches out before Tamaki’s reply. “I can control and talk to food. Wouldn’t that be cheating? They’ll l-laugh at me if they catch me talking to Eijirou. Or Nejire… or S-Shouto and Todoroki… They can’t see them, not like we do. Not even Dad does.”
Tamaki’s father nods. But it’s a good thing, because that means Tamaki is considering it. “Nonsense! Every advantage is a good advantage. How do you think Taishiro got to the Top 6? He ate his way there, that’s it.”
Colour floods back into his face moments later, the air around him charged with buzzing anticipation. Once Tamaki is done eating, he carefully lines his silverware on top of his plate and says his farewells. He retires to the Manor’s Right Wing where his chambers are located. On his way there, he feels that tugging sensation again — his body’s automatic response to the presence of his food guardians.
“I know you’re there. All of you, follow me.”
Tamaki’s voice is stern. He’s not angry, but when he sounds that calm, it means there’s something serious to discuss. Shouto and Todoroki are both tempted to slink out from behind him, but Tamaki seeks them out with his manifested tentacles.
One by one, they all go into his room.
xxx
“You’re all responsible for this, aren’t you?” Tamaki speculates once they’ve settled in. He gestures to the many flyers on the floor, crumpled balls of irritation and creased, handwritten notes he’d collected from his study. “Don’t try to deny it. I know when I’m right.”
A beat passes before Nejire protests, “Well, in our defense–”
“It was our idea, please don’t scold Nejire-senpai and Eijirou,” Todoroki speaks up, shielding his brother. Shouto tugs at the ends of his white long sleeves. He’s the quiet twin, but he still hates it when his older brother gets in trouble.
Eijirou interrupts too, “Don’t get mad at them, Tamaki-senpai. They really did cause a number this time, yes, but they both mean well. We all did.”
Tamaki shakes his head. He sits on the foot of his bed and grabs at his newly delivered blanket, smoothing out the bumps on it with a splayed hand. “I’m not mad,” he mutters to the floor. What was he, then? Disappointed? Distressed? He can’t describe the uncomfortable weight settling down in his gut, like a sickness dragging him down, a feeling he can’t run away from.
“We’ve seen you work so hard, Tamaki-senpai,” Todoroki keeps talking. “Two years ago, you were so close to applying, weren’t you?”
Shouto clarifies, “We saw the drafts of your application in the bin.”
His blood rapidly crystallizes as he makes eye contact with them. Tamaki remembers that moment. He was so frustrated after a particularly bad day during training, and a sudden screw-up the kitchen made matters worse. He’d curled himself up in his bedroom, pretending everything was fine. Pretending he didn’t care; that it was silly of him to entertain the thought of ever getting accepted into a high-end competition.
He recalls the hours-on-end spent choosing his samples, and the weeks of perfection to follow. It’s too soft. Again. There’s a burnt spot on the bread where it shouldn’t be. Again. Way too savoury. AGAIN. No matter what you do, it will always end up in failure.
At least, Tamaki thought no one else had witnessed the way he broke down in private. Who is he kidding? This is all his fault. If he wasn’t such a coward, then maybe he could seize his dreams by the moment. That he wouldn’t worry the only friends he had by his side, that he could be recognized for something else other than the loser heir he’d grown up to be.
And maybe, once upon a time, he dreamt what it’d be like to stand next to the Crowned Prince again. And he’d ask him what he did wrong. Or why they’d stopped being friends.
Tamaki looks at his tiny guardians one by one, the ends of his mouth moving up slightly. “Hey. I could really use a hug right now.”
Just like that, he’s forgiven them. Shouto is the first to hover towards him, and his brother follows, both hands keeping the two close to his chest. Eijirou approaches him too, and had he been any bigger, he’d have lifted Tamaki up and swung him around the room.
He clears his throat. “You know, senpai. Taishiro-sensei might be on to something. You really could go far if and when you decide to enter the competition.” Todoroki agrees with the other red-haired guardian.
“Your food is delicious. Especially the zaru soba, it’s our favourite. And who knows flavours better than you do? Plus, you have us. My fire combined with Shouto’s ice will help you ace the theatrical cooking round. Eijirou and Nejire-senpai are good with keeping you on track under pressure.”
“They’re right, you know.” Nejire takes the spot right next to him. “And what does it matter if you don’t end up winning? Everyone here will still be proud of you. At least go to the festival this year. There’s lots of cuisines from other territories to learn from, and fun things to do.”
Tamaki’s memories about failing resurfaces, his face contorting to a painful expression. He remembers the regret and hurt, the desperation of wanting to be chosen, and the fear of not being good enough. “Even if I can’t r-really function well in front of others, you’ll still all support me?”
Eijirou backs him. “Of course! Well, as best as we can, anyway. We can’t really talk to ordinary people.”
“But we can burn them,” Todoroki proposes.
“Yeah, we can bur— no, Todoroki-kun, we don’t burn the other contestants!”
“Freeze?”
“No, no freezing either!”
“Use Maximum Hardening?”
“Maximum Harde— no, why are you two always pulling this sort of stuff?”
“It’s funny,” says Shouto immediately.
“And it’s worth it. Anything to make senpai smile,” Todoroki echoes, actively dodging Eijirou’s attempts to grab at him.
Nejire chuckles fondly. She and the dark-haired teen stay put at the foot of the bed as the younger food guardians chase each other around his room. “Hey, I know we say this a lot, but you should believe in yourself, Tamaki. If anyone’s taking first place this year, it will be you. It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? Winning the competition for yourself.”
Tamaki feels his heart swell at the kind words.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I got something you might like. A little incentive to help you begin training.” She flies towards one of his dressers at the end of the room to retrieve a rolled-up object from behind it. Right. It had to be another poster.
But this isn’t just an ordinary poster, Tamaki assumes, if Nejire’s full-blown grin and her excited demeanour is anything to go by.
“Nejire, this is…?”
“Open it, silly!”
He takes it into his hands and begins to unroll it from the bottom. Inch by inch, his face goes through all sorts of emotions — from bewilderment to suspicion, curiosity and sudden betrayal.
He doesn’t have to scroll any further at the slightest glimpse of blonde hair sitting primly on the model’s shoulders. Really, he should have stopped at the well-toned body taunting him in paper form, but Tamaki is a gullible fool. He drops it on the carpeted floor, scalded, and swears so loudly that Eijirou and the twins stop wrestling one another.
“H-How d-did you—”
“How did I get the limited edition, signed, one-of-a-kind special Magia interview shoot poster of Panna Cotta Territory’s heir? I suppose I may have ordered it many months ago under your name… didn’t think I’d get it, but here it is. It’s outdated, but doesn’t he look really good?”
“Wh— h— h-how is this s-supposed to help with my training?” He’s shirtless, Tamaki thinks. SHIRTLESS. He can’t even stare at the thing without combusting into smithereens.
“If we put this here…” Nejire picks up the poster from where it fell and hovers around the room with it. She holds it over the wall on the right side of Tamaki’s bed where he normally faces, “You can go to sleep knowing this is what you’re working towards. Plus it’s signed. Signed! Meaning Prince Mirio had his hands on this very poster, once upon a time. You can touch it sometimes, if you’d like.”
Tamaki pulls the blanket in front of his face and cries, “No, I don’t want it, take it away! That’s so embarrassing!”
Sensing his distress, Todoroki floats to Tamaki’s side, inspecting the poster from afar. Shouto follows as well. They’re both confused, and tilt their heads looking at it in unison. “I don’t get it. He’s just the prince. What’s so special about this photo?”
“But Tamaki-senpai likes him,” Shouto adds. “He looks strong. Maybe we should ask him to duel us.”
“If we do this pose, will you like us better?” They both attempt the pose Prince Mirio is confidently modelling. It’s not as effective or as mighty as Mirio’s is, but it does succeed in making Tamaki go even redder. Eijirou laughs at their ridiculous mimicry.
“Get out, all of you! I can’t! And t-take that poster with y-you, darn it!” He pulls the blanket over his head and hides under it, petrified.
“Oh, what a shame,” sighs Nejire in mock disappointment. “And after I worked so hard… Perhaps I’ll throw it out then. Throw out one of Prince Mirio’s limited edition, signed, one-of-a-kind, special Magia interview shoot posters, in which there are only ten in existence… and one of them… is right over here… and belongs to Prince Mirio’s biggest—albeit in denial about it—fan. But oh no, no no. Tama-chan doesn’t like posters. Look at all the ones he’s scattered over the floor. Poor Prince Mirio’s going to end up discarded like the rest of it… I’ll do the honours myself.”
Tamaki’s head pops up from the blanket. He purses his lips and disagrees, “I’m not his fan. Everyone likes the Prince. He’s the Prince.”
“Weak argument, but I’ll let you have it.”
She rolls the poster back up. She looks about to take it to the trash by Tamaki’s work desk, but she stops. Nejire turns, her bright blue eyes glinting with a dangerous idea. Tamaki knows he’s in trouble.
Don’t, he asks silently.
I thought you didn’t want it.
I don’t, I just— you c-can’t do that, it’s too valuable.
I will, she replies back with a smirk.
She may be small, and her power may be to heal things, but when she wants to prove a point, Nejire can be destructive. She unravels it again — this time at a much closer, more personal view. With both hands grasping at the poster from the top, the girl makes a move to tear it into an ugly half.
Tamaki whines, but manages to stop her with a spell in due time. “No!” he yells, retrieving the poster with a tentacle. He cradles it to himself. In that moment, Todoroki, Shouto and Eijirou are observing their antics with piqued interest.
“Thanks,” Tamaki says after a while, a soft declaration anyone could have easily missed. “Thank you, all four of you, for the support. I can’t promise you that I won’t fail, or that I’ll be able to make it in the first place. But I’ll d-do the best that I can starting tomorrow.”
“Yeah! That’s the spirit!” Eijirou beams, his hand pumping through the air.
“You can do it, Tamaki-senpai,” Todoroki and Shouto tell him too.
“Aww, you’re welcome!” Hands clasped together, Nejire’s back to her happy self. She plants a kiss on his cheek and asks for the poster in his hands, wordlessly letting him know that Eijirou and the twins will put it up with her at the spot she’d marked out a while ago. It won’t take long. They’ve been busy posting advertisements all over the manor for several days, after all.
When she and the rest of his friends bid him goodnight to retire in their own rooms, Tamaki tucks himself in bed. In the darkness, his gaze falls at his newly acquired poster, shirtless glory and all. A big red signature barely misses the Crowned Prince’s blinding smile by the side of his head. Tamaki follows the way it loops, and how the M in Mirio slants in a royal, but bubbly way he remembers him by. He wonders what Mirio was thinking about when he wrote it.
Ahh.
Still embarrassing to look at, and he can’t even see it clearly. Tamaki’s trying hard not to admit how much he really likes it.
He rolls on his back to stare at the wide ceiling above, glowing stars dotted across the space like glitter. Then Tamaki closes his eyes. If his impossible dreams are but a hand’s reach away, then Tamaki has to, really has to try to reach for that cedar door, and that ornate golden handle he yearns so much to hold.
I’ve never forgotten you. And I miss the days we spent together, once upon a time. So I wonder if… maybe, you remember me too, Your Highness.